Look Into My Eyes

It has been a long journey since  the gray haired, ill-tempered Opthamamologist said the words “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but you could have MS”.  I felt like someone had just hit me in the solar plexus with a sledgehammer.   I sat too stunned for words as my mind raced for understanding.

MS?  Was that the telethon with Jerry Lewis and all the kids in the wheelchair?  My twenty-eight year old brain could only make this association.  I wasn’t sure if this was right, but I knew that this was not good.

Driving my buick home to the cities suburbs, my pupils were dilated as big as quarters.  Thanks to the doctors magic eyedrops he used to open my pupils to peer into my optic nerves,  halos appeared around each car headlights that passed me on the dark rainy afternoon highway.

I remember almost hitting another car as my eyes tried to focus around the orbs of light and my constant stream of my tears.  I was a wreck and it was a miracle I made it home.   I discovered on a later trip to that same doctor that I was not supposed to operate a vehicle while under the influence of pupil dilating eyedrops.  I wish he had told me that the first time.

The halos eventually disappeared from my vision when the drops wore off, but it took years for me to see the way clearly.

This is my experience of laughing, crying and loving my way to the other side.

Cindy Lee